Mocking Jay

descent into the bowels of the city. We gather at the foot of the ladder, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dim
strips of lights, breathing in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage.
Pollux, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches on to Castor's wrist. Like he might fall over if there isn't
someone to steady him.
"My brother worked down here after he became an Avox," says Castor. Of course. Who else would they get
to maintain these dank, evil-smelling passages mined with pods? "Took five years before we were able to buy
his way up to ground level. Didn't see the sun once."
Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to
say. Instead we all stand there for a long time trying to formulate a response.
Finally, Peeta turns to Pollux. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset." Castor laughs and
Pollux manages a smile.
We're halfway down the first tunnel when I realize what was so remarkable about the exchange. Peeta
sounded like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could. Ironic,
encouraging, a little funny, but not at anyone's expense. I glance back at him as he trudges along under his
guards, Gale and Jackson, his eyes fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched forward. So dispirited. But for a
moment, he was really here.
Peeta called it right. Pollux turns out to be worth ten Holos. There is a simple network of wide tunnels that
directly corresponds to the main street plan above, underlying the major avenues and cross streets. It's called the
Transfer, since small trucks use it to deliver goods around the city. During the day, its many pods are
deactivated, but at night it's a minefield. However, hundreds of additional passages, utility shafts, train tracks,
and drainage tubes form a multilevel maze. Pollux knows details that would lead to disaster for a newcomer, like
which offshoots might require gas masks or have live wires or rats the size of beavers. He alerts us to the gush
of water that sweeps through the sewers periodically, anticipates the time the Avoxes will be changing shifts,
leads us into damp, obscure pipes to dodge the nearly silent passage of cargo trains. Most important, he has
knowledge of the cameras. There aren't many down in this gloomy, misty place, except in the Transfer. But we
keep well out of their way.
Under Pollux's guidance we make good time--remarkable time, if you compare it to our aboveground
travel. After about six hours, fatigue takes over. It's three in the morning, so I figure we still have a few hours
before our bodies are discovered missing, they search through the rubble of the whole block of apartments in
case we tried to escape through the shafts, and the hunt begins.
When I suggest we rest, no one objects. Pollux finds a small, warm room humming with machines loaded
with levers and dials. He holds up his fingers to indicate we must be gone in four hours. Jackson works out a
guard schedule, and, since I'm not on the first shift, I wedge myself in the tight space between Gale and Leeg 1
and go right to sleep.
It seems like only minutes later when Jackson shakes me awake, tells me I'm on watch. It's six o'clock, and
in one hour we must be on our way. Jackson tells me to eat a can of food and keep an eye on Pollux, who's
insisted on being on guard the entire night. "He can't sleep down here." I drag myself into a state of relative
alertness, eat a can of potato and bean stew, and sit against the wall facing the door. Pollux seems wide awake.
He's probably been reliving those five years of imprisonment all night. I get out the Holo and manage to input our
grid coordinates and scan the tunnels. As expected, more pods are registering the closer we move toward the
center of the Capitol. For a while, Pollux and I click around on the Holo, seeing what traps lie where. When my
head begins to spin, I hand it over to him and lean back against the wall. I look down at the sleeping soldiers,
crew, and friends, and I wonder how many of us will ever see the sun again.
When my eyes fall on Peeta, whose head rests right by my feet, I see he's awake. I wish I could read what's
going on in his mind, that I could go in and untangle the mess of lies. Then I settle for something I can
accomplish.
"Have you eaten?" I ask. A slight shake of his head indicates he hasn't. I open a can of chicken and rice
soup and hand it to him, keeping the lid in case he tries to slit his wrists with it or something. He sits up and tilts
the can, chugging back the soup without really bothering to chew it. The bottom of the can reflects the lights from
the machines, and I remember something that's been itching at the back of my mind since yesterday. "Peeta,
when you asked about what happened to Darius and Lavinia, and Boggs told you it was real, you said you
thought so. Because there was nothing shiny about it. What did you mean?"
"Oh. I don't know exactly how to explain it," he tells me. "In the beginning, everything was just complete
confusion. Now I can sort certain things out. I think there's a pattern emerging. The memories they altered with